


The wizard's pet Templar

by Hexes



Category: Diablo III
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Attempt at Humor, Exhibitionism, I can chapters!, I'm Bad At Titles, Kinda, Kormac is confused, Lyndon is on to you, M/M, Manipulative Behaviour, Mentions of Self-hatred, Pain as prayer, Poor Kormac, Religious self-injury, Service Top, Size Kink, Some Canon-Typical Violence, The wizard is a shit, The wizard is a size queen, The wizard wishes he were on Kormac, Voyeurism, diphalia, he's also a bit mean, who's surprised
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-07-01
Packaged: 2018-11-17 02:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexes/pseuds/Hexes
Summary: Xexanoth develops an affinity for Kormac. Kormac is repressed by his faith, by his awkwardness, and by his secret shame. So the wizard decides to play dirty to get what he wants.Alternative title: Lyndon is on to you, and wishes you'd just go bang in broom closet.Un-beta'd.





	1. Chapter 1

      Kormac snapped his blade to rid it of demon blood, and looked up as his Wizard companion _incinerated_ a demon to a small pile of fine ash while crowing about his battle prowess. Xexanoth was _flamboyant_ to say the least. He shook his head at the Wizard’s cocky grin. From his freeing of Kormac, to the joy he exhibited in battle, to his jauntily arched brow when he sat to eat. Kormac was at once impressed, and somewhat repelled. Wizards were known across Sanctuary as being reckless in their abandon, their power a hurricane that they allowed to run rampant.

      Akarat be praised, but Xexanoth did precisely _nothing_ to disabuse Kormac of that notion. His glossy hair gleamed like black fire when it reflected the light of the flaming energy that Xexanoth released through his wand, his glittering black eyes sparkled with mirth, as much as with wrath, and his uncommonly smooth skin glowed like the sun during battle. And _By the Light_ \- he was so _young_!

      Kormac was no milksop when it came to battle - he’d been trained by the Templar order. He was stalwart, his broad chest and strong legs gave him stamina that few others in the training yard could match. His earthy brown eyes were hard to trick, and his quiet demeanor would have granted him the element of surprise, had the Wizard not been running around, blowing everything up, and _cackling._  In the last few months of knowing the Wizard, however, Kormac had been forced to reconsider his battle prowess. Xexanoth just _never wound down_ \- he was up before everyone in the camp, and asleep after all the others had turned in. The boy hardly _ate_ , seeming to exist mostly on the Arcanum that crackled around him like his own private thunderstorm.

 

      Kormac struggled quietly at Xexanoth’s side - they’d been battling for hours, and the rampaging Wizard showed absolutely no signs of fatigue. In fact, Xexanoth seemed to be _utterly_ alive, glowing with his Arcanum, his pearly teeth bared in a somewhat disquieting grin. Kormac cast a healing spell to soothe the Wizard’s gashed arms, magicking away the bloody tracks where they had stained the young man’s skin.

      Kormac sheathed his blade (a kingly gift from the aforementioned human tornado), and ran his hand through his short, nutmeg coloured hair. Looking heavenward, he sent out a silent plea for patience, and reprieve. His prayer was answered with a deafening crash, and rude remarks tinkling like bells over the shrieks of dying demons. Taking a calming breath, Kormac unsheathed his blade and ran off to help Xexanoth.

      Xexanoth giggled with unrestrained glee as he blasted a shambling skeleton to a million pieces. Kormac rubbed at his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose: _By the grace of the Gods, did the man ever run out of energy?_ Xexanoth loudly proclaimed his talents to the empty hall. _Or sass?!_ The Wizard was grinning from ear to ear as he lifted a ring from the remains of a very large skeleton.

      “I believe I know what this is,” Xexanoth looked up at Kormac “I believe it would aid you.”

      Kormac nodded tightly. The Wizard was so free with gifts that it unnerved him. He watched the other rise slowly, swaying slightly as his eyes fluttered as though in sleep. A bright flash of insight split the room, and Xexanoth’s eyes popped open as he smiled.

      “Pandemonium Loop - it will be of use,” Xexanoth glanced up, his lip curling mischievously as he turned away: “Catch!”

      Kormac caught, then sighed. Xexanoth whirled back around so quickly that Kormac was sure the other man _blurred_ at the edges. Tilting his head to the side, he appraised Kormac in much the same way he did with the various artefacts that he looted on their little adventures. Lifting his chin, he seemed to come to a decision.

      “My apologies, my dear friend - I had not considered your needs. We will return to the camp immediately.”

      Hands flung wide, Xexanoth glowed brilliantly blue as he folded space to his will and slipped through the portal, pulling Kormac back to town.

      “Please, rest. I have done you disservice -”

      “No!” Kormac interrupted vehemently, “to fight evil is the essence of what it means to be a Templar!”

      “There is so much more to this world,” Xexanoth scoffed, lifting his chin defiantly. “Though, your conviction is charming. Rest, eat, and heal without the aid of potions, or magic. Conviction can only carry you so far, and I am unskilled with resurrections.”

      Xexanoth nodded as though Kormac had agreed, and turned on his heel with a flourish. Kormac was left in the wake of Xexanoth’s thundering beauty, just as demons were left in the wake of his fantastical spells. Kormac sighed again: His growing fondness for the boy’s looks couldn’t be proper. He would have to flog himself this evening.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I played fast and loose with the timeline here. But also, what even is the timeline in this game? I've been grinding this game so long that it doesn't even register anymore. 
> 
> Alas, another magically disappearing plotbunny! At least this one ditched me *after* the sex scene. 
> 
> Kudos are cool, but comments are subzero. ;) Especially if I screwed something up. Other than the formatting. The formatting is screwed, but I'm trying to fix it... I'm even trying chapters... what are chapters... wat...


	2. Chapter 2

      Cities passed, demon lords crumpled to dust before Xexanoth, and Kormac grew to appreciate him ever the more, (though he found himself sighing far more than he was sure was right). Where once Kormac was afeared of the other man’s power, he began to be awed by it. Certainly it was still as wild, and as dangerous as the famed Greyhollow Islands, but the sheer will that Xexanoth applied to directing it was not unlike the devotion Kormac lavished upon his faith.

      Xexanoth was caring - in his own way - providing weapons, armour, and trinkets that provided protection, as well as small gifts that suggested affinity, if not affection. Indeed, sometimes Kormac thought that Xexanoth meant to comfort him, as their stay in Bastion’s Keep was dreary in all of the ways that Caldeum was not, and the study of Jondar’s journal made him terribly uncomfortable. But from one moment to the next, he was so demanding that Kormac was sure that this was all another Test of Faith. And then at the drop of a feather, when exhaustion finally wore him into submission, Xexanoth stayed so near to Kormac as to nearly sit in his lap.

      This _proximity_ was not something that Kormac experienced with any of the others, and the curve of Xexanoth’s neck as he leaned over the map table often drove Kormac to distraction. Lyndon occasionally made comments that caused Kormac to burn with shame, for he was becoming certain that the scoundrel was not far off the mark in any number of his blasphemous claims. More nights than not, Xexanoth’s black fire eyes haunted Kormac as he knelt, reciting penance as he lashed himself for his treacherous flesh.

      “Kormac.” How the diminutive man could make a name sound like the crack of a whip was forever a mystery to him.

      “Yes, my friend?” Kormac turned to face Xexanoth, his warm brown eyes lighting with happiness.

      It was morning, and Xexanoth’s fawn skin was ablaze with the sunrise. He glowed with raw power, a sight that rekindled the flame in Kormac’s heart. And set fire to something altogether more sinister. Kormac smiled with soft regret - he was sure that his back would never heal with his constant need to bleed the sin he felt stirring for the other man. Xexanoth’s eyes narrowed, his chin tilting as it often did before a scathing remark, or an uncomfortable truth was birthed by his pink amber lips.

      “You are unwell,”

      Kormac sucked a startled breath through his nose: It looked as though this was to be an uncomfortable truth session, then.

      “You move too stiffly,” Xexanoth continued, either oblivious to, or unaffected by his companion’s discomfort.

      “We will stay in the camp today. I must attend to my armour, ” the younger man turned, his chin brushing his brilliantly coloured surcoat as he tossed over his shoulder: “and you _will_ attend to your health.”

      And then he was gone, to talk to Haedrig as Kormac was left to shrug awkwardly at Lyndon and Eirena, who returned the gesture before picking up their increasingly friendly bickering. Standing to stretch, he flinched as the roughspun of his tunic scraped over his wounded back. ' _Perhaps it cannot be a sin to heal it_ ,' he thought privately, ' _for it is in service of the greater_ _good_.' Bowing politely to his other companions, he turned to search out a health potion.

      Exiting the inn that was graciously offering them free room and board (though Kormac was sure that Xexanoth was sneaking money into the till _somehow)_  he searched out the young Wizard. Xexanoth wasn’t at the smithy, though his armour was. Wandering to the other side of camp revealed that he was not trading barbs with the waspish ghost. Kormac found him absent from both the jeweler, and the mystic.

      Frowning at the thought that the stubborn creature might have simply gone out _without_ him, Kormac made his way to Xexanoth’s tent. The other man was fiercely independent, and extremely picky about who touched his belongings, and so decided to keep his living arrangements completely separate from the others. Usually Xexanoth was up before before the sun, and asleep well after everyone had stumbled to bed, and so his finicky nature did not interfere with their mission.

      Kormac scraped his nails down the canvas, to announce his presence, and thought little of opening the flap when he received no response. Surely, Xexanoth had gone off on his own, and Kormac would be forced to skulk at the inn all day, drowning himself in the translation of Jondar’s journal. Movement caught his eye, pulling his gaze to the bed.

      Surely, he was more wrong about Xexanoth’s whereabouts than he had been about _absolutely anything_ in his life to this point. The man was most decidedly _not_ on the battlefield. In fact, he wasn’t _dressed_. He wasn’t even aware of the other man, rooted in silent shock at the flap of his pavilion. Kormac gaped, one hand clutching the flap of the pavilion as though it would save him, while the other made vague, useless gestures. Xexanoth was blindingly gorgeous.

      Where as before he had seemed a god of destruction, now Xexanoth seemed as a god of pleasure. Peony petal lips opened in a gentle moan, while his fawn skin glowed with desire. His hands were wild between his legs, one working his rather impressive shaft, while the other fluttered around the exit of his body.

      Kormac tried desperately to turn away, he'd have to flog himself for this _undeniably sinful_ lapse in his piety. _Akarat save me_ he thought, his eyes glued to the vision before him. Xexanoth’s fingers glistened brightly, drawing a startled gasp as Kormac could see some slick substance smeared all over the other’s genitals. He felt his quiescent sex begin to rise, along with yet more questions in the back of his mind. Another stifled moan demanded Kormac look to Xexanoth’s face - the young man looked somewhat _tormented,_  his brows knit tightly, his lower lip suffering the ravages of teeth. But it was his neck - arched back at an angle that Kormac had heretofore thought was _impossible_ \- that caused Kormac’s head to swim. He had been looking at Xexanoth’s neck far more that was right, or proper, indeed more than was pious, but he had never seen it look so inviting.

      Kormac shook his head, tried to cobble together some vague semblance of _what in the burning hells am I doing?!_ When Xexanoth became suddenly still, and Kormac’s eyes snapped down to Xexanoth’s sex so quickly that he felt dizzy. Buried up to the last knuckle, two of Xexanoth’s fingers had disappeared inside of his body, while the other hand held his full length, thumb and forefinger wringing completion from the ruddy head of his member. Kormac watched, bewitched, as pearly fluid sputtered all over Xexanoth’s stomach, and the boy came alive again, moaning as he withdrew his fingers from himself, and he dropped his leg back down onto the bed. Kormac sucked his lower lip between his teeth and _bit_ because there was no way that a Templar should be disappointed to lose sight of… of… another’s… he tasted blood as he dropped the flap of the pavilion back into place.

      Kormac sucked in a sharp breath, and suddenly became aware of how to teleport: You just had to want it badly enough. He was certain that he hadn’t walked back to the inn, but he knew as he knelt to his shrine that he had many sins to atone for. The kiss of the teeth on the flogger caused his erection to wilt, and he was grateful. He was deformed, and he knew it. The Order had taken in him, despite his condition, had cleansed him of his sin, and now… now in the shadow of Azmodan, he was becoming weak. ' _May the light_ _grow_ ,' he gasped as the teeth bit into his spine ' _as my sin leaves me_.'

 

 

      The next morning, he sat in silence as his companions bantered. Tyrael was still unsure of how to eat. Eirena was attempting to teach Lyndon basic spells. Haedrig and Myriam were arguing about enchantments on weapons. And Kormac? Kormac was certain he was going mad. It was the only possible explanation. Because, frankly, there was no world in which it was possible that Xexanoth was doing this _intentionally_.

      Indeed, Kormac wasn't even aware that they had honey. And even if they did, there was no way that there was enough that Xexanoth had spilled so much of it that he had to suck on _both_ fingers. Those self same fingers that had been buried in… in… ' _Akarat save me_ ,' Kormac prayed, unable to look away from Xexanoth's lips, slick with saliva and honey, stretched lewdly around his wet fingers. _Light be praised_ , but it looked almost like last night. Kormac was sure he was blushing as Xexanoth slid his fingers out of his mouth, his tongue flicking over the tips as they rested on his lower lip. Akarat was, apparently, too busy to save Kormac from the ravages of the sly wizard.

      “You should try it Kormac,” Xexanoth's wet lips molded themselves around the 'r’ in his name so obscenely that Kormac couldn't help but recall the fluttering muscle much further down Xexanoth's body. “It's delicious - a particular treat in this region.” Kormac cleared his throat.

      “I'd, ah, love to…” His eyes snapped down to the skin that revealed itself as Xexanoth leaned forward, stretching over the table like a cat to pour a measure of the thick, golden liquid onto Kormac's trencher. His lower lip was caught between his teeth, just as it had been the night before, and he worried at it gently.

      Kormac wasn't sure how he was supposed to swallow. All these years, and he'd never considered what a task it could be, especially when confronted with the not unwelcome sight of tight, tawny nipples peaking at him from behind an unruly tunic.

      “Don't deprive yourself for me,” he croaked, more to get Xexanoth to lean back, than because he didn't want so much of the sticky treat. The Wizard pursed his rose petal lips, and hummed as he looked at Kormac from under his sooty lashes. The picture of chastened innocence, he nodded ever so slightly.

      Kormac released a stuttering breath as Xexanoth finally acquiesced to sitting back. Slipping the honey dipper into his mouth, and wrapping his lips around the stem in a manner that made Kormac's stomach tighten, Xexanoth  _sucked_ , looking Kormac dead in the eye. Standing, he waved a jovial farewell as he left the table to prepare for battle. Lyndon smirked, and leaned over to whisper in Kormac's ear.

      “Don't worry, love… he'd gladly put himself out for you.”

      Kormac choked. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean!” In an attempt to avoid discussion, he spooned up a dollop of honey and stuffed it into his mouth. Which only served to make him think of Xexanoth's pink lips wrapped around the dipper as though it were a lifeline.

      It was going to be a long day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Trying this... chapter thing. But not chapter titles. Because titles are not my bag. All of my fic is stored on my computer as the 'ship names, sometimes with numerical markers, so I know which one is from which date, which cues which plotbunny. I'm clever, dammit.


	3. Chapter 3

      Lyndon’s heckling had become nearly as unbearable as his nightly lashings, though he was becoming quite skilled at hiding his discomfort from the latter. Kormac would blush like a maid every time Xexanoth laid himself over the map table, bent at the waist, the flaps of his jacket parting over his slim hips. He would become unfortunately mute when the Wizard stroked a finger down the length of his neck while they discussed battle tactics. And Akarat help him, he _whimpered_ the last time Xexanoth had plopped onto the bench across from him, one leg drawn up like it had been when Kormac had intruded upon him.

      “I must… go,” Kormac managed, as Xexanoth tilted his head back _so like when he had been… been…_ Kormac stood abruptly. Xexanoth bit his lower lip:

      “Are you unwell, my friend?” He stood, holding out a hand to Kormac. “Come, I will attend to your needs.”

      Xexanoth shot a vicious glare at Lyndon's indelicate snort behind Kormac's back.

      “Come,” he took Kormac's barely raised hand and led him to his pavilion.

      “You are unwell in your soul, dear friend.” Xexanoth began lighting candles by looking at them sternly. “You must meditate,” he turned his eyes toward the flap the tent, and it snapped closed as though he had insulted it. “The light cannot grow within you, if you continue to strangle yourself with worry.”

      Xexanoth turned away from Kormac, shrugging off his surcoat, and shedding his undershirt. Flinging them to the bed (where Kormac was pointedly _not_ looking), he fished mats, and blankets out of the trunk that also served as his bedside table. Unrolling them with a snap, he settled them on the floor, stacking the blankets just so, and beckoned Kormac with two fingers. Two fingers that had been… had been… Kormac's head swam as it had when he had first seen Xexanoth’s beautiful neck bent back while he - Kormac made another desperate attempt to strangle those thoughts into submission.

      Kormac approached the mats gingerly, his focus maintained on _not thinking_ about how Xexanoth's bed must smell. Certainly not of that musky resin Xexanoth rubbed under his arms, nor of the salty, spicy tang of his sweat - nothing like that, no.

      “What shall we do?” Kormac tried, attempting to alleviate his tension.

      “Sit, and I will guide you,” Xexanoth's glass black eyes were inscrutable. “Your meditations do not soothe you,” the gaze seemed almost as indecent as the look of his legs spread, fingers applied to a task that Kormac couldn't even name.

      “I will be the balm for your weary heart…” and _By the Light_ if Xexanoth's voice didn't sound _husky_ …

      Kormac sat. What choice did he have? His meditations were not meditative - they were punitive. His faith was crumbling, and his discoveries disquieting, particularly in the face of the Lord of Sin. He was so wrong footed about so many things, but here, with this beautiful person that offered him both silk and steel, perhaps he could find his centre... if only he could stop thinking about how the Wizard's stomach had looked, splattered with release...

      “Breathe with me, Kormac…” and the command of that silk-soft, whip-crack voice was irresistible.


	4. Chapter 4

      There was a lull in the battle as Xexanoth ended his spell. They were close, so close to the Final Battle, now… Azmodan himself laid in wait for them. Kormac’s breathing was harsh, and he was bleeding. Xexanoth was a mess of soot, and sweat as he swirled around to look at the Templar. Blood seeped from through the brilliant white silk that Xexanoth had taken to wearing. Kormac sighed, and called the Light to heal the wounds obscured by armour and gambeson. He made to speak, but was cut short by the smoky tenor of the younger man's voice.

      “We shall return to camp,” Xexanoth began to glow, “Come -” Kormac felt a jerk in his stomach that had nothing to do with being squeezed through time and space.

      Xexanoth was talking the moment they stepped out of the glowing blue portal, gesticulating to round up all of the fighters. His armour was shed while passing the smithy, leaving him in his torn, bloody leggings, and sweat stained tunic - apparently the fires of Hell affect even the Nephalem.

      “We need to talk tactics!” He lead the way to the tent where they kept their maps and spare weaponry. He was a blur of motion - a storm of ideas, and thoughtful, if unconventional, theories. Kormac paid attention with the tactical portion of his mind while the treacherous, lascivious part of his mind kept track of the flashes of thigh that peaked through Xexanoth’s Jodhpurs.

      Lyndon sighed dramatically as the young Wizard leaned across the table, bent nearly in half, balanced on the tips of his toes, legs spread, and skin flashing tantalizingly in Kormac's general direction. Kormac glared suspiciously at the scoundrel. Though they may have developed a friendship, the idea that, perhaps, he was not the only one who felt such stirrings at the Wizard's displays was… _disquieting_. Lyndon looked back at Kormac and raised a salacious brow while tilting his chin at Xexanoth's now wriggling bottom. Kormac felt a blush burn its way through his cheeks like wildfire when Lyndon smirked and licked his lower lip.

      “Xexanoth!” Eirena’s lilting voice sliced through all discussion: “For the love of the Prophet! You are getting blood on the maps!” Xexanoth rocked back, and looked down, seemingly surprised by this revelation. He chuckled lightly.

      “Ah, my apologies. My blood is up,” he inspected the map he had stained. “Perhaps we should retire for the evening?” Despite being the one to suggest rest, he seemed vaguely annoyed by the murmur of agreement that rustled through the crowd. “Well, then…” he turned on his heel, and was the first out of the tent.

      Kormac watched him go, and thought upon which sin he had practiced most this evening. Sighing, he braced his hands wide around the area where Xexanoth had most recently prostrated himself, and hung his head.

      “You know,” Lyndon's voice made Kormac sigh again, “If he were any more obvious, he'd be riding you like a well broken horse.” Kormac choked on his breath.

      “What in the Light are you… are you… you?!” Words had never been Kormac's forte, but they failed him utterly now.

      “Akarat’s left nut, Kormac. The boy is practically begging you to fuck him!” Lyndon accompanied this declaration with a lewd hand movement that nearly brought Kormac to tears.

      “You… I don't even… I don't understand!” Kormac's ears were ringing. His Faith, oh, gods, his Faith was abandoning him, and he was surrounded by people who gave no thought to impropriety.

      “Kormac.” Lyndon's change of tone made Kormac meet his eyes again, “if you don't give that boy what he so obviously wants from you, like I've been telling you for months now, someone else will.” The curl at the corner of his mouth left Kormac with little doubt of _precisely_ _whom_ would be the one providing for the beautiful young man.

      “You cannot be serious! You cannot honestly be -” But Lyndon walked out, waving a jovial hand over his shoulder as he tossed back “good night!” as though their conversation hadn't wreaked utter havoc on Kormac's world.

      Kormac stood, blinking in shocked confusion as he turned over the events of the last several months; Lyndon's progressively more crude comments, Xexanoth's pink amber lips wrapped around two of his fingers as he sucked honey off of them, staring at Kormac with those obsidian eyes, the night where Kormac had discovered Xexanoth… doing… doing… Kormac gasped as he remembered, vividly, the way the Wizard's neck had curved, the way his fingers had glistened as they drove in and out of his body, the pearly emission that had glistened on his stomach...

      No. No. He crushed his memories back into the Little Box of Things He Would Not Think About. This had to be a mistake. Certainly. He pushed the heel of his palm against the base of his sex, trying to calm himself. It was a mistake, and he would go talk to Xexanoth immediately, for certainly, the Wizard would still be awake, and they would put Lyndon's insane ramblings behind them, and perhaps even laugh about the ridiculousness of it all. Yes. Yes.

Kormac made his way to Xexanoth's tent after passing by the smithy, to ensure that the younger man had remembered to leave his wrappings with Haedrig to be       mended. Walking across the keep to a corner between the two walls, he scratched at the flap of the tent and pushed it aside.

 _Really_ , a vague, disembodied voice drifted through his churning waters of his mind _you ought to have learned_. Before him, facing the back of the tent, Xexanoth sat astride a large pillow, upon which he rocked with lascivious vigour. Kormac clutched the flap of the tent, desperately trying to remember how to breathe.

 _'Breathing can wait_ ,' he supposed, for though he was denied the pleasure of seeing Xexanoth's face, he could very clearly see the glistening fingers that were sliding in and out of the exit of his body. The young man's skin was glittering softly, so he appeared gilded as he pleasured himself. Kormac closed his eyes, trying to remember something else. There was something… something…

      “Anh!” Kormac's eyes snapped open so fast that his vision blurred, terrified that he'd been caught. Xexanoth was still faced away from him, though. Only now, he had removed his fingers, and instead was mounted upon something that Kormac couldn't quite see for it being buried so deep inside of his gorgeous companion. The Wizard was glowing in earnest, now, gasping, and whispering as he rode himself to completion.

      A soft moan caressed Kormac's ears as Xexanoth shuddered to a stop, rigid for a split second before he gasped and jerked forward, exposing himself further to Kormac's voracious gaze. Held tightly to his body, Kormac could see little flashes of colour through a clear stone. He was so curious, so entranced. His own sex had risen to attention, though he ignored it. Xexanoth moaned again, and began to remove the object from himself. Kormac feasted upon the sight of his beautiful, powerful Wizard shuddering softly as he pulled the stone over the glistening pink exit of his body.

      It was a phallus, carved of diamond. ' _Probably the handiwork of that lecherous old jeweler_ ,' Kormac thought, hazily, for he was rather amazed at the size of the thing. Certainly… something so large couldn't fit inside that tight, hot, glowing… Kormac was jerked back to reality by Xexanoth rising to his hands and knees. Panicking, he dropped the flap of the tent as softly as he could, and fled.

      Xexanoth looked over his shoulder, and smirked.


	5. Chapter 5

      Mornings were fast becoming Kormac's least favourite time of day. This morning he had been discussing with Tyrael the page in Jondar’s journal, and was in a positively foul mood by the time Xexanoth had appeared, dressed in new armour that was quite literally _on fire_ , and sucking on that bedamned honey dipper as though his life depended on it. Kormac's tortured emotions flared around him like a hellfire.

      “We fight hard today, my dear friend,” Xexanoth stepped close, looking up into Kormac's eyes with a vulnerability that took the latter's breath away. “you must calm yourself, or we shall have to make use of your God's mercy.”

      Xexanoth stood, his legs spread over Kormac’s thigh as he tended a nasty cut on the Templar’s proud brow. While Xexanoth murmured and traced runes through the air above Kormac's skin, Kormac recited fractured pieces of mantra as they occurred to him. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate being tended. It was actually quite pleasant, only... this position reminded him of the one he had seen last night, where Xexanoth had been mounted atop a pillow, riding it like a perverse pony. And, of course, Xexanoth was rocking delicately, his legs tensing on either side of Kormac's massive thigh. Why wouldn't he be rocking? He was in a mild trance as he practiced his magic. But Akarat be praised it only added another lecherous layer to the sinful thoughts that played havoc on this mind.

      Xexanoth's eyes fluttered open as he came to the end of the spell. He bit his lower lip, and Kormac could do little but watch, enraptured, as the flesh was worried between sharp teeth.

      “There you are, my dear friend,” Xexanoth smiled in that way that Kormac had come to realise was directed solely at him, “just as handsome as before.”

      Kormac cleared his throat convulsively before responding with a heartfelt “Thank you,” and closed his eyes in relieved bliss as Xexanoth settled a delicate, powerful hand on his shoulder.

      “You are welcome.”

      The battle with Azmodan had been its own Test of Faith - Xexanoth had been so busy lighting things on fire that he had _died_ , only to be resurrected by a meteor that had been the final blow to kill the Lord of Sin.

      Xexanoth brushed the death off in the blithe manner that Kormac had both learned to expect, and wildly detest. He had looted the hoard with somewhat unholy glee, and declared that all repast were on him that evening. Indeed, the celebration was raucous, with soldiers and townsfolk singing drunkenly, and falling together in amorous tangles of limbs over any - and every - surface available.

      Kormac had, had a few tankards of ale, but kept his attention mostly focused on the rich shepard’s pie and dense, crusty bread that made him feel fuller and warmer than he had in months. He smiled lazily as he leaned back against the wall behind him, his eyes searching out his wizard. The young man was sitting on a table, sucking that gods damned honey dipper, and chatting with Lyndon. The conversation must have been engaging, Kormac thought, for Xexanoth rolled his head back in a peel of laughter that floated over the noise in the tavern, caressing Kormac’s ears like the touch of a lover. Kormac glared at Lyndon when the other man glanced over his shoulder, looking directly at him as he placed a hand on Xexanoth’s a perfect knee and ran it upward, while the young wizard giggled and batted the touch away playfully. Kormac stood abruptly, and stalked out of the tavern, haunted by Lyndon’s bark of derisive laughter.

      Kormac paced around, irritable and sleepless while the festivities continued without him. Several times he had wandered over to the wizard's tent, though he wasn't sure what he might say. Every time he'd come to the pavilion, though, Xexanoth had still been absent. He stalked around his room again, back down the stairs, and across the square once more.

      This time Lyndon and Xexanoth stood in front of the canvas, Lyndon indecently close to the younger man. He sneaked his hand around Xexanoth’s waist, leaning into the young man's neck. Xexanoth giggled again, spinning away and catching sight of Kormac. Gliding over he wrapped himself around Kormac in much the same fashion Lyndon had been wrapped around him just moments ago. Lyndon smirked knowingly at the pair, tilted an incredibly self-satisfied look at Kormac, and Vanished.

      “You look thunderous, lovely,” Xexanoth smiled, his cheeks glowing with drink and mischief. “I'd prefer you smile…” he traced a finger along the valley between Kormac’s pectoral muscles, chewing his lip seductively.

      “Nay, friend. Merely tired,” Kormac tried valiantly to ignore the suggestive play happening on his chest. “You must be tired, as well… let me put you to bed.” He winced internally, berating himself for the flare of desirous hope that bloomed in his chest at the wizard's quiet moan.

      “Take me to bed, Kormac.” Xexanoth’s voice had gone breathy, his eyes half shuttered beneath his feathery lashes. Kormac shook his head to clear it and lead the way into the pavilion. Gently pulling Xexanoth to the bed, he set about sitting the intoxicated wizard down.

      “You going to undress me?” Xexanoth flirted shamelessly. He began to slink out of his already partially unlaced tunic. Kormac averted his gaze, turning abruptly.

      “You should sleep off the drink, my friend…” it was taking supreme effort to look away. A frustrated huff sounded from behind him as Xexanoth lost side of his patience to intoxication.

      “You keep making me wait!” He accused.

      Kormac glanced back over his shoulder. His mind blanked as he took in the image of the wizard, boots kicked aside, tunic thrown at his feet, breeches untied, barely clinging to the thought of modesty. He made a strangled noise. Xexanoth raised a demanding eyebrow.

      Kormac fled.


	6. Chapter 6

      Xexanoth’s filtrations were becoming so overt that not only had Eirena seen fit to comment upon them, but Tyreal had mentioned the strange behaviour. Kormac had obfuscated brilliantly, and manufactured some obscure reason to disappear. Though he had to admit, he _was_ running out of “good” excuses to keep turning aside the young man's blatant advances. ' _Except one_ ,' he thought to himself, alone in his room.

      Kormac stood near the looking glass, unsure of himself… of his deformity. He had found love once, but she had been a simple girl, and they had lead a simple life. Xexanoth was nearly a god, powerful, seductive, perfect with his peony lips, his tawny nipples, his singular, thick, ruddy shaft… Kormac's lips were a thin Cupid's bow, his nipples an earthy brown as he brushed his fingertips over them, and his cock? He grasped the two thick members that sat side by side with one another. He thought vaguely that at least he only had two testicles. Perhaps if he could keep the candles out? He had spied the blush-inspiringly large diamond phallus that Xexanoth favoured for self entertainment, and thought perhaps, he wasn't so much bigger as for it to be a _problem_ … he shook his head. Just because his Faith had been shattered didn't mean that the whole world had gone mad.

      He waited, as usual, for all of the others to go to bed before he made his way to begin ablutions. He wanted to keep his deformity to himself, frankly. He couldn't even imagine the vicious things Lyndon might say if he knew. Kormac sighed and entered the dark bathing chamber. Only… it wasn't so dark as it usually was, this late at night. Nor, indeed, as empty.

      Xexanoth was only partially obscured by a curtain that sectioned off a little corner of the bathing chamber. It was generally used by those too shy to bathe with witnesses, or those who wished to preserve modesty. As it was though, the fact that Xexanoth was only partially obscured made it seem more _immodest_. Particularly because he was pulling on his thick, needy shaft with short jerks, obviously seeking his completion as he moaned enthusiastically. Kormac bit his lip viciously, intent on remaining unnoticed - he'd become quite skilled at inviting himself to Xexanoth's pleasure. Xexanoth began to shudder in the way that Kormac had learned meant the younger man was approaching his peak. He was being much more vocal this evening, Kormac noted with approval.

      “Anh! Kormac!” Xexanoth's voice demanded a response before he could think otherwise, and so he responded.

      “Yes?” Their eyes met as Kormac's brain tried to catch up with his mouth, but it was too late, because Xexanoth was climaxing, and keening Kormac's name as though it were some kind of prayer.

      Xexanoth sank to his knees, his left hand still curled around his shaft as he raised his right to beckon Kormac with two fingers. The two fingers that he most often used to stretch open his anus, the two fingers he sucked honey off of, the two fingers he used to trace runes through the air…

      “Kormac, please,” there was a whine in his voice, a reedy desperation that forced Kormac to move without his consent. “Please…”

      Kormac came to a halt in front of the kneeling man, and tried to come up with something to say. Apologies seemed to be in order, but he was unsure of how to phrase them, and even less sure of what time period they should cover. Before he could work himself into too much of a frenzy, Xexanoth moved.

      Those two fingers, so incredibly sinful, so distracting, enchanting, maddening were stroking the bulge at the front of Kormac's pants. Xexanoth's left hand moved away from his softening sex to meet its twin at the fastenings that were protecting Kormac's greatest shame.

      “May I?” Xexanoth's voice was a purr as he licked his lips in anticipation. Kormac tried to shake his head, tried to say _something_ but his voice failed him, and he mustn't have made the right motion, because before he could process what had happened… he was bared to his perfectly formed, utterly beautiful Wizard. Kormac heard the gasp, and closed his eyes against the tears that had sprung up. He didn't want to see this…

      “You're beautiful…” the whispered proclamation sounded like a roar to Kormac's emotion-addled brain.

      “What?” He croaked, confused by Xexanoth's adoration.

      “You… are… simply amazing. A rare specimen - I'm lucky to have you…” and he evidently thought that nothing more needed to be said, for he leaned forward and buried his nose in the curls surrounding Kormac's sex. He moaned in delight. “The gods have blessed you, my love,” he fondled both shafts with wonder before bringing the spongy heads together and attempting to fit both in his mouth simultaneously.

      Kormac had, once again, forgotten how to breathe properly. This was certainly not what he had thought would happen. And he was positive that though his wife had taken his deformity with relative aplomb, she had _never_ done this. But Xexanoth _was_ doing this, and if the moans of ecstasy were any indication, he was enjoying it immeasurably.

      “Kormac,” Xexanoth had gone back to nuzzling the wiry thicket above Kormac's penises. “I believe we should retire to my tent,” he licked a stripe along the underside of one shaft while he stroked the other. “Now.”

      Kormac, still dazed, made a sound, which Xexanoth assumed was agreement. He flung a towel around himself, glared at the candle to put it out, tucked Kormac into some semblance of modesty and fairly dragged him from the bathing chamber.

      They rushed into Xexanoth's tent, where Xexanoth hissed some candles into life, warded the tent, and practically ripped Kormac's pants off, pushing the older man onto the bed.

      “Kormac,” he _whined_ , “I've waited so long!” He descended upon the glorious sex that his companion had hidden from him. Not just one gorgeous, thick, long, perfect phallus, but _two_. The gods could be kind, apparently. “I tried so hard… I was certain after you saw me on the pillow…” he mouthed at Kormac's testes - even here, he was perfect. “have to…”

      Kormac propped himself on his elbows, his head spinning as he watched the young Wizard, wild with desire lick, suck, swallow, and nibble the one part of his body that Kormac had hated for his whole life. The pleasure was transcendent, and Xexanoth's unbridled lust was nearly as breathtaking as the boy's greedy mouth. Being so close to him while he fucked himself ruthlessly on his own fingers was an intoxicant all its own though, especially when Xexanoth crawled up into Kormac's lap, his black eyes wild with need.

      “Watch me,” he demanded “I know how you love to,” he moaned as he pushed another finger into his entrance. Kormac's eyes flickered between the glistening fingers he could barely see, and Xexanoth's face. He felt somewhat guilty for peeping, but even more aroused by the idea that Xexanoth had _known_ and yet persisted in defiling himself. “Move there,” he had slipped his hand free of himself to guide Kormac into the position he wanted, his slick fingers leaving trails on his chest as he was pushed back against the headboard, his legs arranged with a pillow between them.

      “I'd love to give you a better view…” Xexanoth smiled lasciviously as he turned around, flung his knees wide, and tilted his hips. He presented himself to Kormac's ravenous eyes as he leaned down against the pillow and reached behind himself again.

      “I knew every time,” he slipped the first two fingers into his fluttering hole. “Each time I wanted _you_ inside of me.” Kormac placed his large hands on the boy's beautiful, lean cheeks and pulled them open, so he could better see that perfect, pink little muscle. He shuddered as Xexanoth added another finger. “I kept hoping you'd come to me, while I was open, needy…” Xexanoth moaned as he fucked himself harder, reveling in the feel of Kormac's hands prising him open.

      “Hoped you wouldn't be able to resist…” He was impatient - he'd wanted Kormac for over a year now. A year of fingers, and stone toys, and all along the reality had been so much better.

      “I made that toy, thought of how perfect your cock must be -” he interrupted himself by shoving another finger into his greedy hole. “But you're so much better than I ever could have imagined,” he reared back and about faced before Kormac was quite sure what had happened. “Now I get to _know_ **.** ”

      Xexanoth held Kormac's penises upright with one hand and oiled them with the other. He gloried in how hot and hard they were, moaning as he positioned himself over them, his hole twitching spastically from the immense and incomplete stretching he'd put himself to.

      “I'm going to fuck you.” Xexanoth's voice was so silky - so calm - that Kormac was vaguely worried. “I'm going to ride you like you should have ridden me when you saw me fucking myself with that toy.” He began lowering himself onto the immense girth of Kormac's two perfect cocks. It felt like dying. It felt divine.

      “Xexa… no… too tight…” Kormac couldn't find the words, but Akarat, this was exquisite torture, “you're too tight!”

      “Yes. Because _you_ haven't been fucking me!” He sounded petulant, now, nearly child-like, if it weren't for the fact that he was impaling himself on Kormac's sex. Kormac was sweating, straining with need, and too much stimulation. “You've just been watching - ah,” Xexanoth hissed “oh, Kormac…” he sucked his lower lip between his teeth. “Just watching,” he rolled his hips experimentally, reveling in the burning heat of Kormac's sex. “I've had to make do,” he whined, working himself further down the twin lengths inside of him. “Had to make you watch-” he interrupted himself, glowing brilliantly for a moment, using his Arcanum to force his body to his will. “Going to fuck you raw - keep you…” He keened when he finally sat fully in Kormac's lap. “keep you,” he murmured again, smiling blissfully. Kormac was gasping, now clutching convulsively at Xexanoth's knees on either side of his hips.

      “So tight…” he managed, his voice faint.

      “No, love,” Xexanoth returned, looking feral “just not properly fucked.” He adjusted his stance slightly, and began to ride. Kormac whined, his hands flying to Xexanoth's hips, unsure if he wanted his new lover to slow down, or if he simply needed an anchor now that his world had contracted to the flame-hot, silk-smooth sucking heat of Xexanoth's ravenous body.

      “Please! Gently!” He bit out, overwhelmed by the younger man's ardour.

      “No, Kormac. This one is mine. All mine,” Xexanoth leaned forward, impaling himself wildly on the length of Kormac's sex. “You have to apologise for making me wait, Kormac,” he licked a stripe up the Templar’s neck. “Are you sorry?” He breathed softly against Kormac's ear. Kormac nodded frantically. He couldn't quite figure out what he was apologizing _for_ , but he apologized anyway.

      “Are you?” Xexanoth was now seated completely in Kormac's lap, flexing his muscles, suckling on Kormac's sex in a way that made both of them light-headed. Kormac gasped a “yes,” nodding obediently. He was sorry, and he meant to apologize as enthusiastically as his lovely wizard wanted.

      Xexanoth was not mollified.

      He began rolling his hips again, slow, deep movements that ignited his prostate, and made Kormac's head loll. “What are you apologizing for, Kormac?” His voice had velvet, vicious edge. Kormac whimpered. He couldn't focus on anything other than the feeling of Xexanoth's body, the smell of his skin. His eyes fluttered open, and his breathing stuttered to a momentary halt. Xexanoth looked thunderous - beautiful, and terrible, and flushed with desire, he smirked. Turning his head to the side, he tilted his chin down, rubbing his cheek against his own shoulder like a coy young boy.

      “Are you sorry that you made me wait?” He sucked, hard, with his inner muscles, moaning in delight at the feel of Kormac's too-big sex buried to the hilt inside of him. He pinched Kormac's left nipple when the man didn't respond quickly enough for his liking.

      “Yes!” Kormac moaned, he was rewarded with a flutter of Xexanoth's hips.

      “Are you sorry you that you hid your _perfect_ sex from me?” Xexanoth moaned - gods, but Kormac really was huge. And he loved every single inch of it. Kormac bit his lower lip, tried to wriggle away from that question. He wasn't perfect, he couldn't be perfect - he was deformed, he was - interrupted by Xexanoth bouncing in his lap impatiently.

      “You're perfect, and you hid it from me!” He snapped, fluttering his muscles in time with his thrusts, effectively returning Kormac's brain to a mushy state of agreeability.

      “Two completely perfect cocks, two beautiful shafts, and you _hid_!” He switched to rolling his hips the moment Kormac tried to match his pace.

      “You forced me to use cold stone!” He looked up at Kormac from under his lashes, pouting.

      “My poor, abused body-” he flexed his anus harshly to make a point, “stuffed full of cold rocks, and too-small fingers…” He curled selfsame fingers into Kormac's. “While you _watched_ , and you _denied_ me your hot,” he moaned, bouncing up and down the thick, veiny shafts, “perfect,” he rose all the way up to the tips of Kormac's sex, “huge,” he slammed himself back down, “cocks.”

      Xexanoth was starting to sweat. It was hard work torturing the Templar in this manner, but it was completely worth it. Kormac looked utterly wrecked. His pupils were blown, and he kept trying to thrust up, eager to feel Xexanoth's ravenous body swallowing his sex.

      “You owe me an apology, Kormac.”

      “I am so sorry, Xexanoth…” he gasped “I… I… wanted…”

      “What did you want?” Xexanoth interrupted. “Did you want to fuck me?” He bounced in Kormac's lap, rewarding the Templar's honesty when the man nodded. “Fill me full of your gorgeous cocks?” Kormac choked. Xexanoth chuckled. “Did you?” Kormac looked on the verge of tears.

      “Mercy…” he whispered, begging so sweetly that Xexanoth decided to be magnanimous.

      “Come.” Xexanoth demanded. Kormac made a strangled noise as his world tilted on its axis, orgasm tearing through him, temporarily rendering him deaf and blind.

      Slowly, he became aware of someone speaking. It was a soft, flowing susurration; it made his skin tingle. He became aware of the wizard on top of him, wrapped still slightly too tightly around his sex. His turgid erection refused to wilt. Kormac grumbled and inarticulate noise of curiosity. He didn't remember that having happened before.

      “You're mine, Templar,” Xexanoth breathed playfully. “And I'm not done, yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Xexanoth Is named after a Lovecraftian God. He is a defiler of natural time, capable of tearing pieces of time from their proper points, and forcing all of creation to relive them. He's a bad mofo.   
> I think it's pronounced [Shay-shuh-noth].


End file.
